


Έωσφόρος

by glitterburn (orphan_account)



Category: Super Junior
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Cardinal Yesung rules the Vatican, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 16:30:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/glitterburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Light swallowed by light, the Morning Star devoured by the Sun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Έωσφόρος

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crazy_Dumpling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazy_Dumpling/gifts).



> Sequel to [Downfall](http://archiveofourown.org/works/457352).

They say he has run mad.

Perhaps he has, and he cannot tell the difference between madness and sanity. That would be cruel indeed, for Jongwoon has always believed himself to be the most reasonable of men. He has always been the one that others sought for advice and wise counsel, but now they shun him. Erstwhile friends draw away, afraid lest even his shadow cross their path. When he calls out to them, they stand a safe distance away and, in the folds of their scarlet robes, twist their fingers into the sign against the evil eye.

They think he is cursed.

Jongwoon knows he is.

* * *

His dreams are full of Kyuhyun.

It is strange: Jongwoon had believed that, once a prize was gained, it ceased to have any appeal. Like the poets of old, he had believed that the greatest love a man could suffer was in yearning for the unknown. This is what lies behind mankind’s love of God, after all. But he has found the opposite to be true. 

For one terrifying, blissful afternoon, he had known Kyuhyun, had locked himself in desperate intimacy with this beautiful, mysterious young man. The wages of sin were blackmail, a demand to elevate Kyuhyun’s legitimate half-brother Minho to a bishopric. Jongwoon had obliged on the understanding that Kyuhyun would never present himself in front of Jongwoon again. Never attend Mass in the Basilica. Never seek audience at Jongwoon’s palace on the Fifth Hill.

When Jongwoon had stated his counter-demands, Minho was the one who agreed to them. Kyuhyun had sat naked and unashamed on the mattress in the farmhouse, the scent of lavender caught in his tousled hair and his lips curved into a smile, rich and sweet and knowing.

Ever since, across the long crawl of weeks, Jongwoon has dreamed of Kyuhyun but has not seen him in person. Not even amongst the grey-clad penitents with ashes in their hair, crawling up the steps of the Basilica and prostrating themselves upon the marble floor. No matter how many times Jongwoon has made himself available as confessor, Kyuhyun has not come to him. And when Jongwoon sent out his spies, they all returned with the same answer—Kyuhyun has vanished.

He has not returned home to his father. No man has had sight of him upon the roads to the City of Light or the City on the Lagoon. When, forced to acknowledge Bishop Minho, resplendent in a robe of purple brocade with gold facings, Jongwoon had asked for news of his half-brother, Minho had said, “He comes and goes as he pleases. I am not his keeper, nor is he mine. Perhaps he has gone to the City of Brazen Serpents, where our cousin resides at the whim of the Emperor of the East, or mayhap he travels to the land of the Hyperboreans.”

“Do you not care where he goes?” Jongwoon had asked.

Minho had smiled, secrets veiling his expression. “Not one whit.”

But Jongwoon cares, and though his fascination was quenched, in its place grows obsession, and obsession feeds his dreams. 

Now he remembers the dreams Kyuhyun confessed to him, and now he burns with lust. He wakes in the hour before Matins to find his body taut, tension riding him, his heart pounding. Beneath coverlets of embroidered silk, sweat sticks his fine lawn nightgown to his body, and his cock is hard and aching.

He realises then that it is a cruelty to know and to be denied.

* * *

The dreams come every night, and his work suffers.

Jongwoon tries everything in his power to be free of this curse. He confesses his sins, first to another cardinal and then to an itinerant Franciscan. He gives vast amounts of his personal wealth to the poor. He visits medical men of renown. One offers to open his skull and chase out the demon residing within. Another advises the smoke of the poppy, so he may face Kyuhyun in the sanctuary of a summoned dream. Yet another doctor declares that his suffering is a manifestation of guilt and will be cured only when he can absolve himself of all sin.

The fourth doctor is from al-Andalus. A fine-boned creature more seraph than man, he listens to Jongwoon’s halting confession of facts and says, “The only cure for your affliction is to give him what he wants.”

Jongwoon frowns. “I don’t understand.”

“When you wake from your dreams,” the doctor says, “is there an emission of seed upon your featherbed?”

“No.” Jongwoon blushes, more ashamed of this than of the content of his dreams.

The doctor leans forward, eyes gleaming. “Do you not take yourself in hand and seek relief from the visions that torment you?”

“No,” Jongwoon says again, firmly. “It is a sin.” A sin in which Kyuhyun did not indulge, if his confessions were honest and true. A barren pleasure, he had called it; a wasted sin to do it alone without witness of a lover.

The doctor spreads his hands. Upon the middle finger of his left hand is a ring of copper inscribed with letters from an alphabet unknown to Jongwoon. Hebrew, perhaps, or Aramaic; he cannot tell.

“Dreams are but a playground of thought,” the doctor says. “They are the dark mirror of our lives. What in reality we would deny, in dreams we should embrace. That is the only way to be free.”

Jongwoon stares. “You mean...”

“Give in to him.” The doctor smiles and twists the copper ring. “Give in to yourself. Then you will know peace.”

This advice seems more sensible than splitting his skull or smoking opium. Jongwoon rewards the doctor with a purse of gold coins and returns to his palace to make arrangements.

* * *

Despite the advice of the good doctor, Jongwoon remains uncertain. Determined to ensure an extra layer of protection for when he dreams again, he journeys out of the city. He takes refuge at a monastery of his own endowment. It is dedicated to a saint of lost causes. The irony is as bitter as wormwood, but when the gate closes behind him and the sub-prior leads him to a simple cell, Jongwoon feels safe.

He spends what is left of the day amongst the choir monks. He walks around the cloisters, enjoying the play of water in the fountain set in the middle of Eden. He visits the infirmary, and from its garden he plucks a stem of lavender, stripping the flowers and then the leaves, letting them fall behind him until only the stem remains. This he casts into the reredorter.

The scent of lavender lingers on his skin for hours afterwards.

* * *

After Compline, Jongwoon sits in the scriptorium. The prior, an ardent astronomer, is pleased to tell his illustrious guest of an event occurring on the morrow for the first time in over a century.

“The transit of Venus,” he says, turning the crackling pages of a codex. This book is not written on vellum but on parchment of Pergamon. It is of great antiquity, eaten by insects and damaged by water. Faded but still visible are the ink-tracks of scribes long dead, describing the movements of the heavens. The prior indicates a map of the sky, the turning of the planets. “Light swallowed by light, the Morning Star devoured by the Sun.”

Jongwoon shudders. “It sounds violent.”

“As is birth,” the prior says with a smile. “As is death.” He studies the codex and sighs. “The transit begins just after Prime. Perhaps you may intercede with Father Abbot for me. I would dearly love to witness this event.”

“I will speak with him,” Jongwoon promises, and the conversation moves on to other, more temporal topics.

At length, the light fades and the air grows chill. Swallows dart across the cloister in search of roosts for the night. Jongwoon takes his leave of the prior, looks in upon the abbot for a cup of honeyed wine, then retires to his cell. He kneels, prays before the icon hung upon the wall, then removes his rusty-brown monastic robe and lies down upon the straw-stuffed mattress in a linen gown.

It is far from the luxury of his palace, but there is comfort to be found in such simplicity. If only he could rid himself of the fragrance of lavender. Not just on his hand now; it is woven into the straw of his bedding. No doubt it is to promote a peaceful rest, but it keeps Jongwoon awake long into the night until he remembers what the good doctor of al-Andalus told him, and he turns upon the mattress, face down, and embraces the scent.

He wakes when the night is at its darkest. The sliver of moon that earlier peeped in at his window has gone. Jongwoon blinks, slowly perceives the shape of the scant furniture within the cell. It is not as dark as first he thought. Shadows drift around the room, peeling themselves from the walls and puddling across the floor. The scent of lavender is strong, almost too sweet to bear. 

His head swims as if with fever. He throws off the light woollen blanket and moves upon the mattress, a restless roll from one side to the other. When he touches the wall, tendrils of inky black are drawn from the cold stone.

“In the Name of Christ!” Jongwoon gasps, snatching away his hand. The darkness withdraws. Tentatively he reaches out again, unsure if this is reality or a dream. He flattens his palm to the wall and feels nothing more than the rough, uneven surface of limestone. Satisfied, he curls his hand beneath his chin and sleeps again.

The next time he wakens, the dream chases him. He jerks awake, body bathed in sweat, cock hard. He still sees the image of Kyuhyun behind his eyes, naked and ready, wanton and begging. This is what drives Jongwoon to distraction: the knowledge that, while Kyuhyun pleads to be fucked and filled, there is a command behind the plea. It is a command he has always resisted, but now he knows he must fulfil it. 

_A dream_ , he tells himself, turning onto his side, gathering up his robe to expose his heated body to the coolness of the night. _Just a dream. Do as it bids and all will be well_. He slides a hand down and takes hold of his erection; his cock pulses in his grasp, damp palm meeting hard flesh. He caresses the length of his shaft, cups his balls and tugs gently, rolling them in their sac. A distant glimmer of pleasure breaks through the heat surrounding him.

His dick swells. Jongwoon moans, his hand moving up to grip his cock again. He teases himself, timing each breath with a long, sliding caress, and then need overtakes him and he works his cock with short, hard strokes. The slit in the swollen head oozes wetness, and he smoothes it into his flesh with his thumb.

Excitement churns in his belly. He bites his lip, closing his eyes as he thrusts into his hand. He calls back the images from his dream: Kyuhyun and his sinful mouth; Kyuhyun on his knees, lips parted around Jongwoon’s cock and sucking with skilful eagerness; Kyuhyun bound with ropes, forced to perform in front of an audience; Kyuhyun seized and thrown to the floor and ridden hard, desperate, helpless cries of pleasure falling from his lips. Jongwoon imagines sitting astride Kyuhyun’s chest and gagging him with his cock, making that beautiful mouth worship him.

“Oh God,” Jongwoon breathes, so aroused he feels a gush of wetness spooling from the head of his cock. It catches in his fingers, a sticky web of lust. Orgasm shimmers at the edge of his consciousness, but he can’t come.

With a curse, Jongwoon slows his pace. He wriggles on the bed, linen robe rucked up, the thick, musky scent of sex obliterating the fragrance of lavender. Perhaps a different position. He rolls onto his back, tugs harder, faster. His cock jerks, his balls gathering hot and tight, but it’s not enough to send him over the edge.

His moan of desperation echoes around the cell. It’s as if his entire body is aflame, his cock pulsing to the same beat as his heart. Jongwoon anchors himself, sets his feet flat on the mattress and cants his hips, thrusting and thrusting with new urgency. He grits his teeth, a grunt escaping his lips as he chases his elusive orgasm. His hand blurs in motion, faster, faster, muscles tensing as climax teeters towards him. 

And then there’s light, a gentle glow in the darkness. Startled, Jongwoon opens his eyes.

Kyuhyun kneels on the floor, dressed in a robe of black silk. His skin is pale and unearthly and his hair disordered as if after a long night of bed-sport. He looks at Jongwoon and his lips part on a smile, secretive and seductive.

Jongwoon gasps. The heat of shame rises to his face, but it only increases his desire. His cock gets harder, and he can’t stop stroking its length.

Kyuhyun meets his gaze with maddening calm. “Do you want me, Your Eminence? Do you need me?”

“Yes, damn you!” Jongwoon stares, breathless, as Kyuhyun studies his aroused body with detached interest. “Where have you been? I have searched for you, asked after you, all these weeks.”

“You banished me from your presence, so I went to my cousin for comfort.” Kyuhyun gives him a look from beneath his lashes. Shy at first, sweet and innocent, then a coquette’s glance, ripe with promise and bold confidence. “But then I heard of your need and I came back. I came here for you, my lord. Only tell me what you want and I will obey.”

Jongwoon growls, his hand moving faster, hips bucking. He’s close, very close. Too close for him to order Kyuhyun astride him. He would reach his crisis before he could bury himself deep in that tight passage, and Kyuhyun knows it. Kyuhyun is playing him, drawing out his pleasure, forcing him to delay his orgasm.

“Take off your robe,” Jongwoon snaps. “I want to see you naked.”

Kyuhyun bows his head, but not enough to hide his smile of triumph. He unfastens the belt at his waist and shrugs out of the garment, letting it slither over his skin, letting it pool around him in curves and hollows of brilliance and shadows.

Jongwoon stares, hungry and needy, worshipping Kyuhyun’s body with his gaze. He gluts himself on beauty and nakedness, on the elegant line of Kyuhyun’s throat, his chest, the creaminess of his skin, his splayed thighs, the thrust of his cock.

“Oh,” Jongwoon groans, “oh God,” and he comes.

He shoots his seed in long, drawn-out pulses, pleasure battering him. He cries out, shuddering, body arching. Kyuhyun murmurs lewd words of encouragement, and it makes Jongwoon jerk again, makes him squeeze his cock hard to drag out every last drop of ecstasy.

Drained, his head spinning, Jongwoon lies still, panting for breath. Runnels of sweat streak his body, mixing in with the spatters of semen. As his head clears, he realises Kyuhyun is leaning over him, cleaning up the spill of seed.

“Don’t,” Jongwoon says, flinching from the wet, curling flick of Kyuhyun’s tongue. “It’s sinful.”

“It tastes so good.” Kyuhyun drops onto his knees and licks the glimmering seed from the cold stone flags of the floor. “I can’t allow a single drop to go to waste.”

Jongwoon exclaims and reaches out. “No. It is unbecoming for you to crawl upon the floor like a beast.”

Kyuhyun sits back on his haunches. “Oh, my love,” he says, smiling tenderly, black wings unfurling and spreading to fill the cell and block out the light glancing through the window, “whatever made you think I was human?”

**Author's Note:**

> Έωσφόρος (Dawn-Bringer) is the Greek name for the planet Venus, aka the Morning Star. The Latin form is Lucifer.


End file.
